


Assistant

by xfandomwritingsx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 20:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17587898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfandomwritingsx/pseuds/xfandomwritingsx
Summary: You are Finstock’s assistant coach and you start and carry on a sexual relationship.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Carried over from Tumblr. The "Y/N" is actually supposed to be your last name, just for the record.

“Bobby!” you yell across the field to get his attention. He pauses taking notes and visibly cringes at the sound of his first name, making you smile.

“It’s not right you calling me that, Y/N. Just weird.” He shakes it off and looks back down at his clipboard as you approach.

“Well you’re not my teacher anymore and we’re coworkers now so get over it.” You shrug and move to stand beside him to look at his notes for tonight’s game. You can feel him tense up next to you, practically hear his jaw clench.

“That may be so, but you’re still just my assistant coach. I am still above you.” His eyes stay glued to his clipboard even when you flutter your eyes up and look past your lashes at him with a small smirk on your face.

“You know, Bobby,” you say in a low voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually had the pleasure of you being _above_ me before.” Blood is starting to rush into his cheeks and his eyes stop reading his papers as he takes in the innuendo. He bites his lip to keep himself from saying anything. “I didn’t know the job came with perks.”

“Y/N!” Your whispered words cause him to snap. He squints his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Go away and re-lace the sticks!” He takes a deliberate side step away from you and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“You got it, Coach.”

The high school hired you about four weeks ago to be the assistant coach for the lacrosse team. Finishing up college, you wanted a part time job close to home to help cover those remaining school expenses and this seemed like the perfect one.

Seeing Coach again after the years was certainty an entertaining experience. You and he had been friendly while you had been in school there, not _overly_ friendly and definitely not the flirtatiously inappropriate friendly you’ve been since you came back, but friendly. It certainly changed when he saw you walk into his office for the first time.

His eyes raked over your body involuntarily, taking in how your body filled out and formed into the perfect shape for you. Your shorts showed off your legs and the tank top hugged your chest, giving him a clear image of your body in front of him. He had stuttered his words and struggled to focus on going over the paperwork with you. 

It was an exciting feeling, having him try to hide how obviously attracted he was to you now. You started flirting with him, little smiles and touches, subtle comments here and there. He even flirted back in private, initiated it sometimes. There had even been a couple nights where you went out to grab a quick dinner together. The conversation was easy and fun and at the end of the night, you kept hoping he’d end it with a kiss, but it never came.

The gentle, light flirtation somehow turned dirty during one of those nights. You both ordered drinks with dinner, got a little tipsy and in his loosened state, he mentioned your shorts you wore to practices were hot, tight enough to not be inappropriate, but enough to drive a man crazy. That was the first night you crawled into your bed and got yourself off thinking about him. It was far from the last.

And then there was yesterday… Dear God, yesterday.

You were running late and needed to change. Finstock wasn’t in his office and in the effort of saving time, decided to change there. Along with that brilliant idea, you also kept your shoes on in another time saving effort. The shoes were the ones that really screwed you. Your pants got stuck on them, making you lose your balance and tumble backwards. In your rush, you hopped up onto his desk and quickly pried your jeans off of your feet and chucked them across the room.

You put a hand behind you, twisted and leaned over slightly to reach for your bag sitting on his desk chair to get your shorts. Of course that’s when he decided to walk in. You sat there on his desk in a tank top, red panties, and heels, leaning over in what could be interpreted as a seductive way as his mouth flopped open. You froze, completely unsure of what to do.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” he half-shouted, half-whispered. Realizing the door was still open behind him, he rushed to shut it, to shield you from any wandering eyes in the hallway. “This isn’t… Fuck.” He alternated between moving to step towards you and keeping himself right where he was, causing an awkward, indecisive rocking motion. His eyes slid down your body and the panic in him slowed as he licked his lips and started to flush. “What are you doing?” His voice was quieter, deeper. You could have sworn you saw a twitch in his pants.

“Sorry,” you rushed to an explanation and reached further to grab your shorts and hold them up. “I was trying to change real quick.”

“Uh-huh,” was all that managed to come out of his mouth as he stared. His stare was intoxicating, making you heated and antsy.

“I should probably put these on now,” you said awkwardly, trying to fight the tension in the air and resisting the urge to just take off the rest of your clothes and let him watch.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and blinked his eyes off of you. “That would be good.” Another throat clear as he put his hand back on the door knob behind him and nodded. “I’ll be… out there.”

It’s been increasingly difficult since yesterday to stay professional around him. This morning during a staff meeting, you realized just slightly too late that your hand had been making its way to rest on his thigh under the table. He stiffened under your touch and raised a questioning eyebrow at you. It didn’t help that when you moved to retract, he gently put his hand over yours, keeping it there the rest of the meeting.

And now you’re watching across the field as he sets up the nets and pulls out equipment while you lace up the sticks. And every now and again, he’s looking back at you with a heated gaze. He breaks it as soon as he realizes he’s doing it, but it keeps happening. You’ll smirk and throw him a wink and he’ll shake his head trying to clear it and regain focus on his tasks.

Slowly the kids trickle onto the field as the sun starts to set. You and Coach get busy with the actual job of coaching for quite some time. It isn’t until midway through the game, when the other team is blowing yours out of the water and the game has become boring with no hope, that things turn flirty again.

“I’m blaming you,” he says as you sit down next to him on the front bleacher, watching the pathetic match with indifference.

“Why me?” you laugh. “You’re the coach.” You playfully shove your shoulder into his, causing a smile to break onto his lips.

“Well _someone_ ,” he lowers his voice. “Was on my desk yesterday and prevented me from getting work done.”

“Oh,” you feel yourself heat up a little bit. “Sorry about that.” Your voice doesn’t portray much genuine apology. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t have to change my underwear too,” you joke. His body tightens just slightly and he inhales sharply through his nose. You can’t resist the temptation of teasing him a little. “Can you imagine how you would have looked at me if I _hadn’t_ had any on?”

“We so don’t need to talk about this,” he says gruffly, starting to get a little fidgety. “And I wouldn’t look anyways.”

“Of course not, Coach.” You smirk slyly and he turns his head to look at you. His eyes are heavy and keep falling to your lips. “Kind of like I’m sure you’d just push me away if I leaned over and kissed you right now.”

There’s a silence that falls between you for a moment. Sitting so close, you can feel his body heat and hear his breathing become uneven. You lick your lips and his eyes dart back up to yours. One of his hands reaches out towards you before you’re interrupted.

“Hey Coach!” one of the kids shouts at him. His face scrunches up into anger.

“What?” He yells more angrily than he normally does. You bite your lip to stop the laugh bubbling up.

“We need more water,” the kid says, pointing to the empty cooler. Coach rolls his eyes and moves to stand. You put his hand on his thigh to stop him.

“I’ll go get it,” you tell him and give his thigh a gentle squeeze. “It’s my job to do the menial tasks.” You carefully rotate your hand so your fingers move between his legs to his inner thigh. “You like me being under you after all,” you say discreetly to him before standing up.

Before you walk away, you can hear him say “Jesus fuck,” under his breath and it makes you chuckle as you walk towards the cars. 

The water is in the trunk of his car which he always keeps unlocked so it’s easy to get into. You find his car parked in the corner of the lot and flip open the trunk. You’ve got to really push your body into his car to reach the case of water in the back.

“You’re going to kill me, Y/N, you know that?” his voice says. You pull back from the trunk quickly, startled to hear him there. He’s leaning against the side of his car, standing tall and staring at you heatedly again. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting the water?” you tell him, pushing the hair out of your face. He rolls his eyes.

“Not that!” It’s hard not to laugh. “The being practically naked on my desk and the innuendos and the touching!”

“Hey!” You point your finger at him. “The desk was an accident.” You step around the car to move towards him and he bites the side of his cheek, not sure if he believes you yet. “Do you want me to stop?” you ask him. He swallows hard, watching as you approach him. You get close and then lean your back on the car. “Because I honestly don’t think you want me to.” 

“No,” he says firmly. He moves in front of you, placing one hand on either side of your body, pinning you there. “What I want to do is bend you over my junker car and fuck you like I’ve been thinking about for the last month.” Your breath stops and his words send electricity straight between your legs. You find yourself wishing he’d just press his body against yours. “But there’s a dumb game going on, screwing up that plan.”

“Guess you’ll have to just settle for a short make-out session.” You don’t give him time to respond or to barely process what you said before you’re grabbing his jacket and pulling you to him, crashing his lips down to yours.

There’s no hesitation, no inhibition when you kiss. Coach doesn’t wait to put his hands on you or to test the waters before tilting his head and gently biting your lower lip. He grinds his hardening dick into you as his hands trail down your sides. He moans into your mouth when you push back against him. You wrap your arms around his neck when his hands cup your ass and lift you up.

Your legs circle around his hips and he starts sliding his covered cock against your shorts, desperate for the friction, for the feel of you against him. You moan, feeling your panties soaking through, wishing you had the time to do this right. He breaks the kiss and brings his mouth to your ear.

“You’re such a tease,” he whispers. He presses you into the car to keep you up and lets one of his hands reach up to squeeze a breast in his hand.

“You’re no better,” you tell him, breathing hard. “You should have just fucked me on your desk yesterday.” His dick swells at the thought of it. “Ripped off those panties and made me scream.” He makes a low growl that vibrates on your skin.

“Hey Coach!” the kid yells across the dark parking lot. “Do you have that water?” Coach stops his motions on you and the frustration builds up in both of you.

“We’re coming!” You snap back at the kid and his shadow scampers off back to the field.

“Not right now, we’re not,” Coach pouts as he gently lowers you back to the ground. You let out a small laugh. “Go bring the brat his water. I’ll need a minute.” You straighten out your clothes and grab the water from the trunk, passing one to him before you carrying it back out to the field.

The rest of the game is painfully slow. Coach even complains to the ref, asking if they can just forfeit since they suck so bad, but the ref refuses. You two keep your distance, afraid now that the first move has been made, if either of you go near the other, you might just start ripping off clothes there on the bleachers. The heated glances don’t stop though and you can’t help but throw a wink at him every now and again.

By the time the game’s over, you’re aching and so horny it’s painful. You wait impatiently for the last player to file out of the locker room, leaving Coach to be the only one left inside before you strut in, pulling your hair out of the confines of your hair tie as you do so.

“Bobby.” He’s absentmindedly wandering around the locker room and has ended up near the showers. He looks rugged and worn down, as antsy as you are to have his hands back on you.

“It’s still Coach to you, Y/N,” he teases. A smirk breaks out on your face and you walk up to him.

“Well then, _Coach_.” You reached for his track pants and slip your hands under the waistband, giving a little tug downward. “Maybe you should put me in my place.” His dick is hard almost instantly when you wrap your fingers around it. A low groan rumbles out of him when you give him a gentle stroke. “Get on top of me.”

There’s not much foreplay once he grabs your shirt and yanks it up over your head. There’s hot, wet kisses and he pushes you back, grabbing your breasts and pinching at your hard nipples. Little noises rise up from your throat as he walks you back into the showers.

“Get undressed,” he demands as he breaks away from you. He turns on one of the shower heads, letting the sound of the water fill the room and you realize it’s his cover in case anyone is still in the school. You sit down on the tile and untie your shoes, strip yourself down to the bare skin.

When you’re done, Coach is standing in front of you already naked, his hard cock pointing out in front of him. You lick your lips and before you can move to reach out to him, he’s on top of you, pushing you down into the cool, slick tile of the shower floor. He bites at your lip, swipes his tongue across yours as he holds himself in one hand and lines himself up at your wet pussy. You’re dripping and want nothing more than for him to slide into you. You grab his hair and make him look at you.

“Fuck me, Coach. Fuck me hard and fast.” There’s no hesitation. He pushes his dick into you in one thrust, filling you and stretching you out in the best way. A scream of pleasure escapes your lips as he bottoms out in you, his cock pulsing.

“Shit,” he curses before leaning down to bite at your shoulder.

It happens quick. Coach starts thrusting, taking his dick nearly all the way out and plunging it back in. He pumps fast and hard, a month of frustration unraveling. He braces his hands by your head, keeping his weight off of you as he fucks you. Groans tumble out of his mouth and his eyes squeeze shut.

You can already feel your orgasm building up inside your core. Living out your fantasy proves to be even better than you imagined. He angles himself to curve into it, brush against your g-spot and press his pelvis down on your clit. Waves of tingles start to course through you.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he tells you.

“Yeah?” You plant your feet on the wet tile and start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. “You like the feel of my pussy wrapped tight around you after all this time?”

“Should have done this weeks ago,” he moans out through gritted teeth.

“Should have done this years ago,” you tell him breathlessly between little squeals. “Oh fuck,” you moan, arching your back, raking your nails down his. “Should have fucked me when I was your student.” You can feel his dick twitch as he fucks you. You thought he might like that. “Would have liked that wouldn’t you?” You lean up and pull his ear lobe between your teeth. “Bending me over a desk between classes. Fucking me in your car in the parking lot. Pulling me from class to suck you off.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” his thrusts start to lose rhythm as he gets close to release.

“That’s why you still call me by my last name, why you like me being your assistant,” you growl into his ear. “Oh god, I’m going to cum, Coach.” Your pussy is throbbing, tightening up around him. “Make me cum all over your hard cock and then cum inside of me.”

“Oh god.” He thrusts faster, swelling up inside of you, begging for his own release. “Cum you dirty little girl.” That’s all it takes to make you clench around him, dig your fingers into his flesh and hold him against you. You cum with another scream. He follows right after, groaning loudly in your ear as he spills hot jets of cum inside of you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers against you, letting some of his weight down as his dick twitches.

“Fuck, that was amazing.” You let out a heavy breath and release your grip on him. The water from the shower is starting to reach the spot on the floor where you are, feeling uncomfortably hot on your skin, steam filling the room. Coach slowly pulls out of you and starts to stand. He helps to pull you up, your head still spinning.

On wobbly legs, you both walk towards the running shower. He adjusts the temperature and you step under the spray. He wraps his arms around you from behind and nestles against you. He gives a gentle nibble on your neck.

“You’re coming back to my place tonight.”


	2. Part Two

It has been three days since your night in the showers. Bobby had taken you back to his place and fucked you into his bed before you both fell asleep, his arms entangling you. It had been an interesting three days since that.

The morning after had been simple. You woke up to an empty bed and found Bobby downstairs, coffee already made. You had a cup, exchanged smiles and small touches. You got dressed and he kissed you goodbye.

Things at work were flirty, but not explicit. You guys didn’t talk about what had happened or if it was going to happen again. It was that third day that curiosity got the better of you. You wanted to know if it was a one-time thing or if he was actually interested.

So today during practice, you made sure to wear your red shorts, the ones that hug your ass a little too tightly, the ones that glue his eyes to you. When you walk out onto the field, you watch him as he turns his head and sees you. His mouth drops open and if you were closer, you’re pretty sure you would hear a strangled groan escape. There’s a pained and frustrated look washing over his face as you smirk and wink, sauntering over to the benches to start taking notes. 

When he notices some of the players have paused in their practice, also staring at you, his face goes red. He blows his whistle harshly and starts yelling at them. Going so far as to grab their facemasks and physically turn their heads away from you. You chuckle when he looks at you sternly and shakes his head.

Coach keeps away from you throughout practice, but his eyes tend to linger. They run up your legs whenever you cross or uncross them. When you pull your hair back into a ponytail, he traces over the delicate skin of your neck. He seems especially intrigued when the condensation from your water bottle drips onto your chest and slowly slides down between your breasts.

At the end of practice, once the boys had left the field, you take the opportunity to approach him. He’s making notes on his clipboard when you slink up next to him.

“They did pretty good today,” you comment casually. He doesn’t lift his eyes to look at you.

“If by pretty good you mean horrendously mediocre, then yeah, they did.” You smile. Same old Bobby. You notice his pen is moving as though he’s writing, but it’s not actually pressing down on the paper.

“You seemed a little distracted today, Bobby,” you lower your voice, make it softer, darker. The motions of his pen start to slow.

“Well someone was distracting.” He tries to sound bitter about it, but his tone falls short.

“Ahh,” You nod your head knowingly, feeling a little smug that he didn’t scold you for using his first name. “Greenberg can be quite distracting,” you tease. “Hard to pay attention when he’s flailing about on the field.” You can see the muscles around his mouth twitch, trying to resist a smile.

“Not _quite_ the distraction I was talking about.” He stops pretending to write and looks at you. “Those shorts aren’t appropriate.” His eyes look hard into yours, making it obvious he’s trying not to let them stray down your body. You smirk up at him. 

“Well then I should probably go change, Coach,” you tell him. He nods slowly and you tilt your head just briefly. “Should probably put panties on too.” His hardened eyes widen and he glances down at your shorts, his lips parting. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, trying to control himself.

“Y/N, you need to get out of here,” he says, voice low and rough. Having heard that voice moan out your name in that same way makes it even more attractive, sending hot shivers down your skin and settling between your legs. His eyes slowly lift up to yours and you bite your lower lip playfully. He’s gripping his clipboard with white knuckles, resisting the urge to pull you into him, kiss you, and grind against you right here in the open field. “Now,” he insists.

“Okay.” You shrug and take a step back. He lets out a breath and his body starts to relax. “I’ll go change for tonight,” you tell him and start walking away. A little ways down the field you turn back and ask, “You don’t mind if I change in your office again, do you?” The groan he lets out is audible that time.

—–

The first half of the game that night goes pretty good. Despite Coach nagging them, the team is playing well and they’re up by a goal. When they score their next one, both you and Coach cheer. He screams out more of his ridiculous insulting compliments and you find yourself laughing. You nudge his arm with your shoulder.

“Must have done something right today,” you say as the crowd noise dies down.

“I guess so!” He’s got a wide smile on his face and even nudges you back just slightly. 

“Note to self,” You lean in and lower your voice a little. “Don’t wear panties to practice anymore.” He stiffens besides you, the smile waning, his tongue poking into his cheek and his teeth biting down gently on it. His eyes wander down to your jeans for a minute.

“You put them back on, didn’t you?” That gruff tone returns to his voice. You lick your lips, the cool night air suddenly feeling a little warm.

“What do you think, Coach?” you ask, hooking a thumb through one of your belt loops and tugging it just enough so he can see your hip bone. “Think I’m standing here in front of you with nothing but my jeans rubbing against me?” His breathing hitches and he leans down, still keeping his body facing the field. If anyone was looking, they could definitely tell you were exchanging hushed words, but neither of you care at that exact moment.

“I think you’re teasing me,” he says.

“I think you like it,” you counter. There are a few moments where neither of you speak, where the heat rising up between the two of you builds and settles on your skin. “Only one way to find out.” You tug a little harder on your belt loop and watch his eyes dip down. “Want to take me around back and see if I’m abiding by the dress code?”

“Stop, Y/N,” he growls. He reaches out and grabs your hand, stopping you from pulling on your belt loop anymore. His fingers trace over your hip bone and the little touch makes your stomach drop, a heat pooling in low in your belly. “Fuck,” he whispers absentmindedly. They start to move along the line of your jeans and you imagine him just inching his fingers in, feeling for those maybe-there panties. He withdraws his hand quickly, before he succumbs to the urge to actually do it. “There’s a game to finish.”

Bobby purposely walks away, discreetly holding his clipboard in a way to cover what you assume is the start of a hard-on. You’re a little let down he walks away, but still buzzing from the excitement of his touch. You take a few deep breaths and turn your attention back to the game.

It’s another fifteen minutes or so before you decide that you’re not done teasing him for the night. Remembering how he reacted when the team looked at you, you scan the crowd for someone to talk to. Sheriff Stilinski is sitting in the front row, trying painfully not to watch his son get hurt. You sit yourself down next to him.

“How are you doing, Mr. Stilinski?” you ask. He cringes and looks away from the field, using his hand to block his peripheral vision.

“Why do you do this to me?” he asks somewhat jokingly. “Why can’t you just bench him and not give me an aneurism every week?” You laugh and glance at your lap before looking out at the field.

“He’s got the skill to be out there. Just has to hone it a little better sometimes.” You look back at the sheriff and soften your eyes, smiling sweetly at him.

“So everyone keeps telling me.” He lowers his hand, but keeps his eyes politely on you. You chance a look past him and see Coach watching your interaction. You turn your eyes back quickly and put your hand on his knee.

“He’s a good kid. You’ve done well with him.” He smiles appreciatively at you. You take your hand and run it slowly through his hair. You’ve made sure at this angle, Bobby can’t see the way his eyes widen and his mouth drops open slightly. He laughs nervously.

“Uhh, look Miss Y/N, I don’t mean to give you the wrong idea,” he stutters out. You laugh gently.

“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” you rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a small squeeze. “I’m just trying to get someone’s attention.” You let your hand fall down to his bicep, pretending to admire it. “Mind humoring me?” A relieved smiles breaks out onto his face. 

“Isn’t it a little mean to try to make a man jealous?” He says it as puts a hand on your thigh, playing along. You shrug.

“Maybe,” you admit, playful smile widening. The sheriff shakes his head softly.

“Alright, come here.” You both lean in and he turns so he can bring his mouth to your ear. “Guys don’t like when another guy gets this close,” he whispers. “Act like I’m saying something sexy.” You close your eyes and let out a small giggle, wrap your fingers around his arm, seemingly pulling him closer.

When you open your eyes, you see Bobby across the way fuming at you. You take your lip between your teeth and throw him a wink. Staring right at you, he starts turning red before shouting out your name. The sheriff pulls back.

“Go get my bag out of my car!” Bobby yells at you. You flash another gentle smile at Stilinski.

“You could have mentioned it was the coach that’s now going to torture my son,” he says, wincing. You pat his leg before standing up.

“He’ll be just fine,” you assure him before turning and walking out into the parking lot.

Coach parked his car way in the back again, back where the lights barely reached. It took you a minute, but you do eventually find it. You flip open the trunk and turn on the flashlight of your phone. His bag isn’t in there. You furrow your brow and close the trunk, moving around the car to look in the back seat.

“My bag’s not in there,” his voice calls out as he comes toward the car. You purse your lips to stop the smile.

“Then why did you send me to get it?” you snark at him.

He doesn’t slow his approach and when he reaches you, he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you into a hard kiss and at the same time colliding against you, pushing you back against the door of his car. His other hand hooks its fingers into the same belt loop you had earlier and tugs it down, brushing your hip again. His mouth is hot and demanding, taking your breath away as his tongue glides along your lips. He presses his body against you, reveling in feeling you again.

“Stilinski needed to get his damn hands off you,” he growls once he pulls away from the kiss. His thumb reaches up and caresses the very top of your jawline.

“I was starting to think you didn’t care,” you tease, leaning forward to gently nip at his earlobe. There’s a small groan in your ear and you feel his dick twitch against you.

“Like hell I don’t.” His words are broken and strangled, punctuated with another groan.

“Still want to bend me over your car?” you whisper in his ear. His dick is rising, pressing hard between your legs. You rock gently on it. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes out shakily. “Yes. More than you can imagine.” He strokes his fingers along your skin, barely dipping them into your jeans. “Really want to find out if you were bluffing.” You buck into his hand and he slowly lets his hand slip further in, his fingers feeling only your bare skin. He lets out a low moan when the back of his fingers brush across your clit.

“I don’t bluff, cupcake,” you tell him before capturing him in another kiss. He brings his hand out of your jeans and grinds against you, his hands sliding over your body. Your nails scrape along the back of his neck and through his shirt down his arms. “I need you.”

“Gotta make it quick,” he says, muffled by heated kisses. He grabs your arms, pulls you off his car and starts walking you to the trunk, hands moving to cup your breasts through your shirt.

“Then make it quick, Coach.”

He breaks the kiss and spins you around so fast, you feel a little dizzy at first. Then his hand is between your shoulders, his dick settled against your ass, pinning your pelvis to the trunk. He pushes you down, bending you at the waist. You put your hands flat against the car metal and moan when he reaches in front of you and undoes your jeans. The night air gives you a chill and you can tell the seat of your jeans were soaked through when he took them off.

“So fucking wet,” he grumbles, taking one finger and swiping it along your dripping slit. He runs the other hand over your bare ass. He slides his finger into you easily, teasing you. You push back against him. “One of these days, I’ll take my time with you.” He slowly starts to thrust his finger in and out of you. “Make you cum on my fingers then clean you up with my tongue.” Your body is practically ringing with pleasure. You can hear him start to push his pants down, glancing back you can see his arm move, gently stroking himself.

“Don’t fucking tease me.” Your voice comes out gravelly and pained, desperate but demanding. You can feel the head of his cock sliding along your slit, lining up to sink into you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He moves his hips forward, sliding his cock into you. You both let out long moans. He grabs your hips, fingers indenting your skin. You let your head fall against the trunk, closing your eyes and clenching around him, enjoying with way he fills you. “God, you’re so tight.”

He starts with one long thrust, pulling all the way out and slowly filling you back up, making you feel every hard inch of him as he sinks inside your hot pussy. You try to keep your moan quiet, but he feels too fucking good. Your mind clouds up and you don’t care if the whole field came out to watch you, you’d tell him to keep fucking you.

The next time he sinks into you, he bends over, draping his chest over your back, pressing you into the trunk. His lips brush your ear, his breath coming in hot, heavy pants. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you.

“You’re mine.” It’s a demand, his voice heavy and dark, fingers giving your hips another hard squeeze before one of his hands reaches up and grabs your shoulder. His hand traces downwards, stroking your arm as his hips start moving again, quicker this time. He nips at your ear and lets out a low sound close to a growl. “Fucking _mine_.”

His weight shifts and you can feel him about to stand. You reach your hand behind you and grab the back of his neck. You pull him forcefully, letting him know you don’t want him to move. His hips keep pumping, fucking you hard and deep, as you turn your head and pull him into a kiss. He returns it with fervor, pushing his tongue against yours and sliding his hand back up your arm to cup the side of your face. When he breaks away, both of you breathing heavily and groaning, he presses his forehead to yours, keeping you close. 

“You have no fucking clue what you do to me,” he whispers. He lets out a frustrated groan and pulls away from you, putting his hand between your shoulders again and standing up straight. “God, you drive me crazy. Flirting with Stilinski like that. Right in front of me.” He fucks you harder, slamming into you. “Such a bad little girl.”

“Shit,” you moan. Your pussy is aching, your body wound tight and begging for release. Your nails scratch against the trunk, wanting to curl your fingers around something and hold on. “Please don’t stop.”

His thrusts get faster, more erratic. It only takes just a few more seconds before you can feel him swell inside of you. He gives one more thrust, burying himself deep inside you. He lets out a loud cry, a groan from deep in his chest and grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers and squeezing it as he spurts cum into you. The sound and feel of his orgasm sets your own off. Your pussy tightens around him, your fingers squeeze his, and you arch your back, letting out a cry of your own.

“Oh fuck,” you moan out, waiting for the orgasm to fade. Both or your bodies start to loosen and his dick gives one last twitch before he slowly pulls out. You let out a small, disappointed sound and suddenly feel too empty. He releases your hand and you flex it to ease the dull ache of his tight grip.

He pulls away and gives you the chance to slowly turn over, flip onto your back, and lay your head down, feeling light headed and satisfied. You can hear him pull up his pants and know you should probably move to put yours back on too, but you can’t bring yourself to sit up. He nudges between your legs and leans down to kiss you. 

“We should get back before someone misses us,” you say softly when he pulls away. He nods briefly, but kisses you again. You wrap your arms around his neck and he slides his under your body and pulls, scooping you up into him and into a sitting position.

“Stupid game.” You let out a small laugh at his frustration. It’s not like you really want to get up and go either. He reluctantly lets you go and steps away. You hop off the trunk and reach down for your pants. Coach rubs his wrist across his forehead, wiping off the sweat and trying to cool down.

“So I’m yours, am I?” you tease as you finish getting dressed. He looks a little flustered. 

“Yeah well… Whatever,” he stutters out and shrugs. “I didn’t mean… You know.” You let out another laugh.

“It’s alright,” you reassure him. You take a step towards him and grab the collar of his shirt. “I like the way that sounds.” You pull him down for one more kiss. It’s softer than your others. His hands press into the small of your back and he takes his time opening his mouth over yours. He licks one of your lips gently before breaking away. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“C’mon, Y/N,” he says, leaning away and taking your hand gently in his. “Let’s get back.”

“You don’t have to use my last name, you know,” you tell him as you start to walk back.

“That’s just wrong,” he cringes exaggeratedly. “I’m Coach, you’re Y/N. That ain’t changing.” He looks gruff and serious, but he squeezes your hand affectionately before breaking off away from you and reentering the field.


	3. Part Three

It’s been a long day of final exams and wrapping up papers for the end of the semester and if his frustrated, angry texts are any indication, Coach is feeling the same way. Students, teachers, papers, phone calls, even pens; everything had been irritating him and sending him on rants all day long. You never complained about it. He ranted to you and you responded with your own rant. It worked to blow off a little steam, but not nearly enough.

So before you walked into his office to prepare for the next game, you slip into the bathroom and change into something a little more comfortable. While you wouldn’t necessarily consider stiletto heels comfortable, you kept them on anyways.

“Hey Bobby,” you greet him as you enter his office. He’s too engaged in looking through his papers to scold you for using his first name. He’s got a pen in his mouth, hands full of papers pulled from his filing cabinet behind his desk. He grunts in response to you. You discreetly twist the lock on the door behind you.

His eyes don’t even look up at you as you walk in. They stayed glued to his papers as he wheels his chair backwards towards his cabinet to ruffle through even more folders. You smile a little at his distracted state. You take the opportunity to slide between him and his desk, put your hands on the edge, and hop up to sit on it.

You shiver slightly at the cool feeling of his desk touching the underside of your thighs. The short trench coat is only made shorter by sitting down, the fabric riding up your legs and uncovering a good chunk of them. You cross your legs to keep yourself somewhat decent.

“We’re gonna lose if I can’t find this play,” Coach says offhandedly, mostly to himself. He’s still got his nose buried in his filing cabinet and you wait patiently for him to come back. Still not paying attention, he spins the chair back to face you and rolls closer, the folder he’s holding bumping into your knees. Only then does he snap back to reality with a disgruntled, “What the…” His words trail off, never managing to finish his full, confused _What the hell?_ before his eyes fall onto you and his mouth drops open. The sight of you in a clichéd trench coat and heels on his desk will do that to a guy.

His eyes start at your knees, tracing up your thighs to the hem of coat. You’ve got it shut, but not buttoned. The sides are simply wrapped around you and held closed with the strap which you tied into a tight enough knot to keep it shut, but not so tight it would be difficult to undo. The top is looser and falls open, revealing the skin of your chest, but no visible cleavage. His eyes cloud over with a different kind of distraction.

“Please tell me you’re wearing clothes under there,” he states, eyes darting towards the door. When he sees the lock turned, he lets out a small huff of a chuckle.

“Well,” you lean down and take one of his hands.  You take it off of his papers and guide it to your top knee. His palm splays over your skin. “Only one way to find out.” You smirk and bring his hand further up your leg, the heat of his skin spreading. He lets out a low groan and shows offers no resistance, simply lets you guide his hand until it reaches the high hem of the coat. 

You release his hand and let him decide if he’s going to push up further or not. You place your palms flat behind you and lean back just slightly, waiting for him to make a move. He doesn’t take long to make his choice and his fingers start trailing their way underneath the coat. They shift to the side, sliding along the outside edge, inching towards your hip.

You squeeze your legs together tighter, the tingles of excitement and his touch already making you wet. His eyes watch as his hand disappears under the coat, fingers feeling nothing but your skin until he reaches the lace of your panties. His eyes widen and he looks like he doesn’t know if he’s excited or disappointed by the fact that you’re wearing panties.

“Figured we could use some stress relief,” you tell him, voice a little rough. Your eyes flutter closed as his other hand slides up your bottom leg, fingers hooking your panties and just holding them for a moment. He stands up with a longing sigh as his hands slide back down to your knees.

“Is that right?” He keeps eye contact as he pulls your knees apart. You bite your lip and nod, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. One hand stays where it’s at, fingers pressing into the flesh of your leg as he steps up between them. His other hand comes up to cup your face along your jawline. There’s a deep smile on his face when he says, “You’re going to kill me.”

You smile into his lips when he leans down and kisses you. Your legs move to wrap around his waist, crossing your ankles and pulling him as close as he can get while pulling yourself to the edge of the desk. You throw your arms around his neck and turn what started as a sweet, passionate kiss into a hungry one. You bite gently on his lower lip before flicking your tongue out.

He growls his hands return instantly to your panties. He doesn’t wait to pull on them. You use your legs around his waist as leverage to lift your hips and let him drag them down your legs. You both break for a short moment to unhook yourselves and remove them completely. Then he’s right back between your legs.

He’s hard, pressing against the front of his pants and grinding against you. You cling to him, fingers digging into his back and ankles pulling on his lower back, wanting him always closer. His hands are still on your hips, over the coat this time, holding them still so he can thrust against him.

You let out a low moan before you bring your hands to his shoulders and give him a firm push. He immediately releases you and takes a step back, eyes wild with lust. You give him a coy smirk and lean back on your hands. You bring up one of your heels and plant it on his chest.

“Sit down, Coach,” you tell him, putting a little pressure into your foot and pushing him back. He doesn’t say anything, but he smiles and follows your order.

Once he’s sitting in his chair again, you give yourself a little hop off of the desk to stand in front of him. He doesn’t try to hide the way his pants bulge up. If anything, he draws your attention to it by arching his back and opening his legs. You lick your lips and bring your hands to the knot at your waist. You don’t rush when you tug it loose and you don’t pull the front of the coat open in a quick flash. You draw it out, let it fall open by itself first and pull it apart a little wider to let him fully see you, let him see that the panties were the only thing you were wearing underneath.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans as he drinks you in. His hand falls to his groin and he gives himself a little squeeze. You chuckle at him and take a step forward. When you lean down and hitch your hands into the waistband of his pants, he lets his head drop backwards, biting his lip hard. He lifts his hips to help you shimmy them down to the floor where he kicks them off. “You know,” he manages to clear his throat and speak. “This is not exactly relieving any stress.” 

“No?” you tease, reaching out to run one finger along his length. It twitches under your touch. “Let’s fix that then.”

You flip the bottom part of the trench coat behind you, making sure it doesn’t get caught between or under you as you lift one of your legs to kneel in the small space next to him. You had noticed a week ago how large his chair was and have been dying to ride him in it ever since. By the way he growls and grabs your hips, encouraging you into his lap, it’s safe to say he’s thought about it too.

As wet as you are and even with how much you want it, you manage to resist just sinking down onto him right away. Instead, you fist his hair and put your other hand on his shoulder, pressing your pussy against him. You slide along the length of his cock, rocking your hips with alternating pressure. You swallow his groans with a hot kiss and his fingers make indents on your hips.

He’s throbbing underneath you, twitching and practically begging for entrance. You tease him, pushing your hips back and up, letting his dick rise up and the tip slide along your wet slit. It takes most of your concentration not to let more than a little bit of him slip inside. He tightens his grip on you and his lips stop moving against yours, unable to focus on anything else but the tease of your pussy.

You chuckle again at him and he sucks in a deep hiss of a breath. His eyes scrunch closed and his head drops back again.

“Quit teasing.” He means it as a demand, but it stumbles out of his kiss swollen lips as a request. “You’re going to fucking kill me.” You hover above him, his cock lined up perfectly. You wait until he lets out another frustrated groan before slamming your hips down on him.

He pushes in easily, your walls slick and willing. The sudden feeling of being filled with his cock causes you to moan with him. Everything stops for a few moments as you both soak in the feeling. You lift his head up by his hair and press your lips to his again.

Then you’re thrusting on him, lifting your hips up and down with the help of his hands guiding you. He grunts and his own hips arch up when yours lift away, not wanting to be anywhere but buried in you.

You bounce on his lap, the pleasure building inside of you. Your breaths are heavy and quick and you curl your fingers tighter in his hair. With every downward thrust, he tries to hold you there, tries to keep his cock deep in you, but you resist for now. You keep bouncing, thrusting, fucking him hard and fast.

“God, you feel so good,” you moan. “I needed this.” You kiss him again, sucking on his tongue greedily. You can feel his cock grow harder inside of you and you know he’s getting close.

You let him hold you down in his lap, follow his motions as his hands guide your hips into a rocking motion. His pelvis brushes your clit and shoots pleasure through you. You let out a whimper and his hands don’t need to guide you anymore. You’re sitting in his lap, moving your hips back and forth, taking his cock in deeper until it brushes that spot inside of you that makes your knees suddenly weak.

“I’m gonna cum,” he rasps out, breath hot on your lips.

“Do it, baby,” you tell him, your own orgasm building quickly inside of you. “Let it go.” His fingers dig into your hips almost painfully as his body comes undone at your words. You squeeze your walls around him and he lets out a loud cry as he cums.

You feel his cock swell inside of you, feel his hot cum spurt out in quick bursts inside of you. With one more brush against your clit, your body tenses up and your climax hits. Coach flinches as your pussy tightens, his cock sensitive and spent.

When your muscles release, you crumple down onto him, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder and letting his softening dick slip from inside you. You both breathe heavily, recovering from your tryst.

“Someone could have heard you,” you comment somewhat teasingly.

“It’s your fault,” he accuses. His words are harsh but his hands are currently lifting up to tenderly rub your back. It makes you smile lightly. “I’m definitely de-stressed now.” You hum in approval.

“Me too.” He turns his face to press a small kiss to your jawline. You nuzzle into his shoulder and manage to shift your body so you can sit sideways in his lap, your legs thrown over one of the armrests. “When are you going to take me home again, Coach?” you ask.

“I take you home and I might not let you leave if you keep things like this up.” He lets out a small laugh and you can’t help but return it. You lift your head to look at him.

“I might not mind that.” There’s a soft moment where you both smile at each other and he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. It passes quickly when he pats your ass and shifts like he’s going to stand.

“Now go put some real clothes on before the kids see you.”


End file.
